Tattoo
by Diana Obelisk
Summary: John is still uncomfortable about his relationship with Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't know where they stand. Could a tattoo be the thing that brings them together? Rated M for future chapters.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, John, or the show material that this is pulled from. I appreciate every review, but I am not paid in any way for the production of this work.**

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"You know.. Anderson's going to try to get to you just to annoy me," Sherlock commented over the top of the newspaper. John shook his head, smiling slightly while he busied himself making tea.

When he heard an approving hum from behind the paper, John replied, "Any new murders?"

"None. Not even a particularly intriguing fraud case, or thievery. A few deaths, but they're all quite reasonable," Sherlock replied brusquely. John nodded and placed tea in front of Sherlock, having long ago become accustomed and expectant of the requests.

The paper crumpled to Sherlock's lap as he let it go, reaching out for the teacup. "I might need something else to start occupying my time," he muttered inarticulately.

"Well, you're not going to use me as a time-waster," John retorted. He couldn't help the sharpness of his words; the relationship he held with Sherlock was still something of a sore spot, especially after the scare they'd had with the cabby.

"I couldn't if I tried, John," Sherlock said gently. John started to get a sour look on his face, mouth puckering and eyebrows drawing together.

"Oh, don't look like that," Sherlock chided. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't, Sherlock," John snapped.

Looking to the ceiling as if asking for help from a God he didn't believe in, Sherlock shook his head. "I mean, John, that I couldn't waste time on you. You are not a waste. You've been a friend from the moment you stepped into that lab."

Nodding, John accepted it as a proper excuse and sat down in his usual chair. "I wasn't your friend, not then, you know."

"Oh, sure you were! As soon as I left, you accepted that we were going to be flatmates, and then you came with me on my case without any sort of explanation other than that it could be dangerous." Sherlock tilted his head. "Unless you're saying that you were more at the time, but I checked your pupils for dilation and there was none, so I can safely assume that you weren't attracted to me then."

"And I am now?" John questioned.

Sherlock paused for a moment, and there was a pregnant silence as he started to speak several times. "I am biased," he finally ground out. "It's not something I am accustomed to, and so, I am not quite sure how to tell."

"You could try testing it," John replied. "I wouldn't mind."

"You might."

John shook his head, but Sherlock merely turned his head to the left, leaning his chin on his hand and balancing the teacup on his knee with the other. Humming a single, flat tone nearly silently, Sherlock closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked back to John.

"Honestly," he said, "you might mind it. I'm not exactly known for my tact."

John laughed, replying, "You think I haven't gotten used to it? Brilliant, and yet you expect so little."

"I don't know what it's like being in your head, John," Sherlock admitted. "You've complained about my lack of social skills many times before. My arrogance, too."

John nodded, standing, and walked into the kitchen. "Right, then," he called out, "maybe I ought to tell you the way things are between us."

"I know how they are, John. I'm the arrogant genius, and you're the trustworthy partner. We're in a relationship, but you're ashamed of it because you have a hard time believing yourself to be aligned with something along the more homosexual alignment. You have a gay sister that you don't get on well with, which could be a source of your problems. I aggravate you, and yet you stick around, which shows quite a bit of fondness." Sherlock paused for breath, looking up to John with a surprisingly earnest look on his face.

"No," John corrected. "You're not just an arrogant genius. You're my partner, you're beautiful, you're so much that can't be said in words. You can't..." John paused for a moment, gathering his words. "It's not possible to contain someone in just two words."

Sherlock nodded, smiling with just the corner of his lips, and his eyes darted to each of John's eyes before glancing down to his mouth. John's stubble was starting to grow in, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel vaguely repulsed by it – although the food that it trapped could be an interesting marker of John's eating habits, it was by no means a fun thing.

"And yet, you accept my characterisation of you," Sherlock mused.

"No, I didn't – I just didn't say anything out loud. That doesn't mean I accept it." John shook his head, walking out of the apartment to the stairwells. Sherlock jumped up, following after him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

John smirked, turning to look at Sherlock before starting to descend, saying, "I'm going to get a tattoo, and I'm going alone."

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**Author's Note and Acknowledgement: Thanks go out to Amy O.e for being the beta to this story. I look forward to our story-writing relationship as it develops. This is my first Johnlock fanfiction, and so I apologize for any errors with characterization. As always, I send out my deepest regards to any and all readers and reviewers. You're really amazing.**

**I am, of course, only human, as is Amy O.e, so I apologize in advance if we missed any grammatical errors, though I do want you all to know that I do use the oxford comma.**


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